


Dinner and Conversation

by Wasuremono



Category: Rusty Lake | Cube Escape (Video Games)
Genre: Backstory, Canon-Typical Content, Game: Rusty Lake Hotel, Gen, Missing Scene, Nonbinary Harvey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:55:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28088871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wasuremono/pseuds/Wasuremono
Summary: It is in a boar's nature to goad its foes even in the face of great danger. It is in a parrot's nature to talk.(Mr. Boar and Harvey, on the night of the fourth dinner.)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Dinner and Conversation

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PluralForce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PluralForce/gifts).



> Content notes: this story takes place during the events of Hotel and refers to the general dark events and tone of that game (murder/cannibalism), although not in great detail. There are also minor spoilers for that game, mostly implied, although I'm not sure this would make much sense anyway if you haven't played Hotel. 
> 
> Gender headcanon notes: in this fic's continuity, Harvey is nonbinary but masculine-presenting (he/him pronouns) and is referred to with male terms by other characters. His gender isn't a major factor in the story, but there are a few allusions to past gender issues. 
> 
> Notes that aren't about content: hello! I enjoyed this chance to dig into these characters and touch on some mysteries of the canon, and I hope you enjoy what I came up with. Happy Yuletide!

The real trouble with plans, Harvey thought, wasn't the possibility of failure; it was the inevitable complications of success. A failure of the last week's plans would have been disastrous -- chaos, embarrassment, castigation -- but at least it would have been out of his hands, passed onto his superiors. Harvey had always found a sort of comforting certainty in the face of failure; when the world was dreadful, it was at least predictable. Good luck was rather less so. After four dreadful nights of success, as much luck as skill, he was faced with what he'd known was coming: a next-to-final dinner, with one guest left, and surely no remaining pretense of normalcy. He'd prepared a few shoddy excuses, but they were dead in his throat now as he watched his final guest take his seat at the table.

Mr. Boar was sober. 

Harvey knew what a serious opium habit looked like; several of his mother's friends had been addicted, and Mr. Boar wore it all openly, in a sort of disregard that was more like scorn. Now, though, he was clear-eyed, with a faint unkind smirk that was evident even on a porcine face. A sober opium-eater was desperate, cruel, or both, and while it was hard to read desperation in Mr. Boar's posture, the cruelty was certain. 

Worst of all, though, was that clarity in the eyes. For the first time that week, Harvey was certain he was actively being seen. To the other guests, he'd been a sort of useful appliance -- to Miss Pheasant, a desperately-needed audience -- but Mr. Boar seemed to recognize him as a person, or at least a creature with its own motive force. This was not conducive to the plan.

When Mr. Boar spoke, it was a dreadful confirmation. "Will you join me at the table, young man? I prefer not to eat alone. Ah, but first... could you see your friend out?"

Harvey turned his head slowly, suspecting a trick, but no -- there at his back was Mr. Bat, glaring at Mr. Boar with concentrated malice. Harvey couldn't blame him, but mollifying the guest came first. "Of course," he said, then stepped towards Mr. Bat. "Ah, I'm sorry, but could you please head to the lobby? I believe Mr. Crow mentioned maintenance on the elevator...?"

Mr. Bat said nothing -- as always, these days -- but the low hiss and narrowed eyes conveyed his mood well enough. Harvey could practically hear his old voice: _do you really want me to leave you alone with that man?_ What Harvey wanted had nothing to do with it, though, or with any of this. What he needed was one last guest lulled back into complacency, and Mr. Bat's presence surely wouldn't do for that. Harvey lowered his voice, moving in closer, and rested a hand on Mr. Bat's shoulder. "I know, I know. I..." How to phrase this? He was certainly being overheard. "We must make the guest's evening comfortable." He lowered his voice again, to an uncomfortably reedy whisper. "Rolf, I'm sorry. Please trust me."

There was only the barest glint of recognition in Mr. Bat's eyes, but that was enough. With the smallest nod, he slunk towards the lobby, and Harvey returned his attention to Mr. Boar, whose smile was as smug as ever. "Mm," said Mr. Boar. "is _Rolf_ the nervous sort?" The name was said with a careful, rather pointed inflection, to make certain Harvey'd heard and understood. Mr. Boar had set a snare, an opportunity for a lapse in decorum, and Harvey had stepped right in.

"Merely professional concern, sir," Harvey replied, in as even a voice as he could manage. "He takes the comfort of our guests very seriously, as we all do."

"Someone's comfort, in any event. Tell me, are you two friends outside the hotel, or is it simply a matter of professional camaraderie?" Mr. Boar began to slice into his pheasant breast, at last, focusing on his food instead of Harvey. It was a precious moment to regain some kind of focus and avoid the terrible, instinctual panic. Harvey was being toyed with -- that much was obvious -- but was he authentically in any danger? What in the world was Mr. Boar playing at?

It was better, Harvey decided, to play along and let his guest think that he had the advantage. As distasteful as the concept of telling his life story to Mr. Boar was... well, it would hardly matter for very long, would it? "We were childhood friends," he began. "Our mothers were friends, but his mother died quite young, and mine practically raised him. I suppose you could say we were more like brothers."

Mr. Boar chewed thoughtfully and slowly -- and, Harvey noted, much more quietly than usual. Was it the sobriety, or some kind of display? "Excellent fare, as always. You ought to have the cook prepare you a plate, my dear boy. But... yes, I see. Rather kind of your mother to take in someone else's bastard."

"Rolf wasn't --" Harvey stopped himself, choked back the reflexive defense. Even if Rolf had still been in the room, it wasn't as if any of this could hurt him anymore. "His father was my mother's man-of-all-work. It was simply a practical matter of combining the household."

"Yes, I see. And your father's thoughts on this?"

"He was dead, sir. Before my birth. An accident."

"Mm-hmm." Mr. Boar took a long sip of his red wine. "A happy household, no doubt. But you left together to seek your fortunes?"

"There was little work for us at home," said Harvey, before deciding to err on the side of candor; after all, what did it matter now? He'd held onto his memories for a reason, hadn't he? "My mother was a singer, and she intended me to follow her into music. I didn't have the talent, or the drive, but I don't think she understood." There was a great deal his mother wouldn't have understood, Harvey thought, but most of it he'd hid and she hadn't pursued -- not like the endless music lessons, the hours of clumsy piano, and the intolerable high wheezy sound of his own voice. Out of all that Rusty Lake had changed in him, he was still most grateful to be rid of that voice. "And as for Rolf..." No, that part of the story wasn't his to tell. Rolf had been shiftless, with the low-simmering restless anger that came naturally to shiftless young men, but there'd been some drive there that Harvey didn't know and would never learn. "Rolf's father had friends working in hospitality. They made introductions to the master of the house, and here we are."

"Yes, here you are -- a boy of barely twenty, if I had to guess, and your friend not much older? And yet..." Another pause, as Mr. Boar cleaned his plate, scraping up even the last dregs of the thyme. "Various associates of mine have stayed at Rusty Lake, and they always speak very highly of the staff, and the young butler in particular. Neat and diligent for a boy of barely twenty. I first heard about you fifteen years ago, young man. As I see it... well, either you left home _very_ early, or you've been initiated."

Something ran cold down Harvey's spine. "'Initiated?' Sir, I don't understand --"

"You surely do. There are rumors across Europe about this place, you know: fountains of youth, mystical healing, alchemy. Sea monsters, too, for the cranks, but... well, what am I telling you this for? I'll just make you laugh, won't I, boy? We don't need excuses anymore. Every one of us who came to this hotel came for the Elixir of Life."

 _Not Miss Pheasant,_ thought Harvey, despite himself. He had to stay calm and remind himself that his false face, the one he wore for the guests, might still slip. His thoughts raced in terrible directions: what did his human face look like right now? What about Mr. Boar's? What of the others, and of the cuts of meat, the meals he'd served? He stumbled for words, some sort of sensible response, before realizing that Mr. Boar didn't seem to be expecting one. His gaze was still intense, but now, it seemed, was time for Harvey to serve as audience again.

"But all magic has costs, doesn't it? One can spin gold from straw, but there must be straw to sacrifice. One does rather wonder what two callow boys might have offered in exchange for eternal life. Eternal service, perhaps?"

Harvey didn't interrupt; Mr. Boar didn't seem to want an answer, and he certainly didn't deserve one. It had been service for both of them, but Rolf had offered his past up as well: an unspeakable cost, but one that had left him innocent. Harvey had offered up his future, to serve the Great Work with his full mind and bloody hands, all just to be transfigured. There was no room for regret, because there'd never been any other path.

Mr. Boar continued, heedless to Harvey's wandering thoughts. "Of course, there are many ways to satisfy a balance sheet. More direct sorts of sacrifice. Five of us arrived here with the same goal, but it was never intended for five of us to leave again, was it? Perhaps only one. And here I am. It has been a pleasure and an honor, young man."

Another moment of realization, but this one a buzz of warm hope. _My God,_ Harvey thought, _he thinks he's won._

Mr. Boar drained his wine glass. "A fine meal. I believe I'll retire for the night; please inform the master of the house that I shall be in my room, and that he is welcome to awaken me if I doze off from... post-prandial rituals. I await his company."

"Of course, sir." Harvey moved in to clear away the dishes, putting aside all hope and fear for the simple facts of a renewed plan. Already Mr. Boar was becoming more boorish -- in other words, more comfortable. The 'rituals' would, of course, be opium, and probably enough to render him oblivious. Harvey would be a background player at best in his waking dreams: once again, a useful appliance, or perhaps just furniture. There would be no struggle.

Harvey exhaled, letting his false face do what it would, and carried the dishes to the kitchen. In the lobby, Rolf was watchful as always, but no longer afraid; had he already forgotten? Or did he know this would all be over soon?

Nothing was ever really over. The past was not past; the dead slept lightly. Still, this particular turn of the wheel would end soon, and that was enough.


End file.
